Thieves Castle

Summary: 1576. Kit Tyburn, tasked to find a missing goldseller, uncovers a more byzantine and dangerous game that pulls him into the dark, twisted embrace of the sinister and malevolent Thieves Castle.

Thieves Castle, Chapter I

The man’s feet slid in the muck as crossed the open space of the laneway,
the darkness yawning moist and thick around him. He leaned against the corner post panting,
his breath harsh in the silence of the street.
An unsheathed dagger glinted in one hand. The man glanced around, eyes straining at the
darkness.

Ivy Lane stank. The smell was
a mix of urine, dung and the foul rancid stench of offal drifting down from the
butcher’s yards north of Newgate Street.

Then man pushed himself away from the corner and turned hastily down
the lane. The night was heavy and the
darkness near complete, lit only by a handful of window candles and the dim
yellow light of a small lamp hung outside one dark doorway. Although the lane was cobbled, the stones were
greasy with the accrual of filth and the endless tread of daytime
commerce. The man paused, hearing the
faint echo of feet behind him, the sound uncertain.

He cursed to himself and began to move down Ivy Lane with as much
speed as the darkness and the uncertain footing allowed. He held the dagger at length in front of him,
as though to hold the night at a distance.
The sounds seemed closer.

He glanced around. The
laneway was narrow, a typical London thoroughfare, overhung with jetties that
exiled the sky into a narrow strip and made the already oppressive darkness of
the night into a stygian gloom. A flare
of torchlight sent a set of shadows racing away as someone passed the corner he
had vacated. The light sent the man
scurrying away, no longer mindful of the slippery footing. He caught a faint gleam of a bare blade in
the glowing light of the torch.

“Find ‘em lads, winnow him out.” The faint voice sounded amused.

The man cursed again and ran down the street, one hand outstretched,
bumping along the irregular walls of the laneway. Another flicker of light in the distance
ahead of him, coming from Paternoster Row and the distant bulk of St. Pauls.

“Coads.” The man muttered and pressed himself into the wall,
shaking. The men were getting closer.

“Stay still.” The voice was
soft but firm. A dim yellow light
emerged from the doorway to his right, carried by a young woman. Her hair was short and dark. She stepped out and hung the lantern on a
sign bracket above the narrow doorway.
She pointed at the darkened alcove to the left of the door, almost
hidden by the thick cornerbeam of the house.
“Go there.”

The man wiped his face and nodded, sliding into the welcome darkness
of the alcove like a lover’s embrace. He
listened as the sound of footsteps grew more distinct. He could see the red flicker of the torch
against the wall as they drew near, the shadows dancing back and forth with
drunken abandon. He shrank back, feeling
the rough timber frame digging into his spine. He listened.

“Bit late for punk[1]
trade, isn’t it.”

“Codso, you lot out looking for sheep?” the girl said in a tired
voice. “what’s this rag and tag?”

“You seen a man? A blood?”

She laughed. “Likes of them
in Ivy at this time of night? Not
tonight. Any of your ruffler’s in coin?”

“Piss off cunt, we’re busy.”

“Fuck you, you buggering cockless bastards, go find yourselves some
rent-boy’s arse.” The torchlight
flickered and began to move away. The
man hidden in the alcove let out a long sustained breath of relief as the
footsteps faded away. The girl continued
to berate the party’s retreating backs until they disappeared.

“You can come out.”

The man emerged cautiously, his eyes flinching as he scanned the
length of the street.

“That lot’s gone.” The girl
said. She canted her head at the man and
surveyed him up and down with a practiced eye.
“What’d they want you for?”

“No idea love. They came at
us when we left the tavern.” The man
shuddered at the recollection. He had
stood mute and stunned as he watched his two friends beaten into the mud and
only when the steel had gleamed red did his drink-befuddled reflexes send him
careening away as fast as his legs could carry him. He felt his throat choking with bile.

“Here” The dark-haired girl handed him a wineskin. He tilted it back and gulped a mouthful of
thin, acrid wine. As he wiped his mouth,
he looked at the girl again in the lantern light. Her hair was short and dark, barely past her
ears. She wore a long dress with the
bodice bare and loose, the swell of her breasts clearly evident. The stays on the dress were untied, allowing
the top to flare open, giving the man a tantalizing glimpse of a lean length of
untrammeled flesh. The girl tilted her
torso back and the tip of one nipple slid out from underneath the thin fabric.

“Why don’t you stay with me for a time, until your hunters wear
themselves out?” The man felt one hand
brush along the front of his breeches, pressing against the hardening length of
his member. His breath caught. His eyes closed as her grip tightened.

“That may be the wisest choice…” the man breathed. Her hand slid around his waist and she slowly
turned him, her dark eyes locked on his, her mouth open like a wet promise. He slid his hand down between her thighs and
the thin material left little to the imagination. Maybe it was due to the terror of being
hunted through the nighttime paths of London but the girl‘s touch made his
pulse hammer and his desire quicken. She
smiled, a brazen smile of anticipation and lust.

It felt like a thump and a sharp tightness against his right side. He stopped in puzzlement. The girl continued to look at him and gave a
slight half-smile as hot pain coursed through him.

“I.., what..?” The girl
continued to smile. He felt her brace
herself for an instant and then push her right hand against the handle of the
long poniard that protruded from his side.
He staggered, one hand grasping at the girl. He felt his numbing fingers trail over the
hardening nipple of her breast but his lust was overtaken by overwhelming
weakness that made the dark alley swim. A
sick feeling of horror flooded through him and he reached for her. She laughed and easily deflected his hand, tugging
on the handle of the dagger, steering him lurchingly away from her. “You…”
his words were incomplete, lost in a red wave of searing pain that
seemed to swallow his thoughts.

“Over here, come with me.” She crooned in an encouraging voice, one
guiding hand on his back and one on the dagger handle, as though driving some
farm animal to market. He took a
staggered step and then the girl grasped the dagger handle tightly and twisted
it with harsh strength. The man felt a
tugging sensation and his insides turned to liquid, as though he drunk a
skinful of hot spiced wine in one swallow.
He could feel the cold length of the steel perforating his flesh,
ripping into his bowels and belly. His breath
roared in his ears and his eyes filled with tears. The lantern wavered and blurred.

He was on the ground, mouth tasting of blood, fingers grasping at
the thin layer of muck that coated the cobbles.
The torchlight flared again and he stared upwards at the girl’s intent
face. She wore a pleased expression like
she had made some fresh discovery.

“Want me to finish him?” One
of his hunters stood beside the girl, holding the torch and looking down at him
with a bemused expression.

“No, I want to watch him go.
You would spoil my fun Bent.” She
smiled. Bent’s eyes flickered at the
girl with a measured look and then back at the dying man stretched across the
muddy stones of Ivy Lane.

Bent nodded in careful acquiescence. “Can’t have that.” Bent reached down and ripped the blade free
and the man felt a calescent, diffuse sensation spreading through his body, as
though he had pissed himself. His blood
was dark as night in the glow of the torch.
He watched it puddle across the greasy cobbles. “Leave this on him when he’s done.” He handed her a small object. She nodded absently and lowered herself over
the supine man’s groin, settling herself upon him, eyes fixed on his face, knees
on the wet cobbles, unmindful of either dung or bloody rivulets, her expression
almost rapt in the flickering torchlight, watching his eyes as the man cried in
pain and fear and bled to death in the dank confines of Ivy Lane.

Chapters

Ben Gauger:
Kudos to Bryan Laesch, author of Remnants of Chaos:Chaotic Omens for his use of the Gothic style of writing and in addition the footnotes and endnotes at the end of each chapter, a welcome accompaniment to be sure, though his use of grammar could use a little improving, but his use of punctuation...

M.L. Bull:
Hello, Aalia!Your story compelled the emotional pain and struggle of a teenage girl very well.. The imagery was also convincing and well-written, showing the different personalities of your characters and their actions. However, I do think that many of your sentences are too lengthy and could use...

Jean Tryon:
As a beta, I found this story outstanding!! Plot, grammar, phraseology, etc Rachel gives us it all. She takes the story into the future from where due South ends. She is an exacting and thoughtful author.

FateFellShort:
I have read this story and have followed the writers on tumblr from the beginning. Its a wonderful story. Beautifully written with a really nice pace, that makes it enjoyable to read more than once. For me, fairy tail has very good characters but what the writers have done is give them more depth...

Darren Powell:
Very nice read. Lots of surprising treats from: Schrodinger’s cat and dervish dance forms; to sensei masters and brownian motion. I wasn't expecting this, so it was a pleasant discovery.Also liked the 'cross-over' events connecting one character's/or group's journey to another. I like how that wa...

Maryam Rehman:
The story was overall amazingly penned down. I loved how the story transitioned from the lavish city of London to the war torn Aleppo. Even though the story had some loopholes in some places, it made me contemplate failing in chemistry, because I was up all night glued to my mobile screen rather ...

263Adder:
Okay so I adore this story. I only knocked one star off plot for historical inaccuracies because I'm a bit of a stickler for that. The ending broke my heart though, considering you already changed history couldn't you (SPOILER) change it a bit more and have them together!!!! I want an alternative...

CornflowerBlues:
I'm liking everything about this story so far: the brazen detective, the way he gave in to temptation, the temptation (<3!!), and the unexpectedly complex backdrop of his job and the case he's working. The story is well written, and despite its erotica tag, has an intriguing detective story and a...